


arson we commit

by winterscaptsam



Series: Sambucky bingo 2019 [5]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, Hitman falls in love with target, Love at First Sight, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Sambucky Bingo 2019, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23712109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterscaptsam/pseuds/winterscaptsam
Summary: Bucky seeks adventure, reaches out for an adrenaline rush whenever he can get it and he reckons this fellow will be the one to give it to him. All sweet smiled and dolled up figure showing off his attributes. Like he’s daring anyone to take the rush.So, Bucky goes and gets what he wants.“What’s your damage, doll?”OrBucky is the hitman and Sam is the target.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Series: Sambucky bingo 2019 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1513679
Comments: 50
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sambucky Bingo Prompt: hitman falls in love with target
> 
> Most of my information comes from Killing Eve so bare with me if deceptions aren't exactly accurate, I’m trying. 
> 
> Warning: brief mention of suicide.

He remembers that it hurt. 

Letting love walk away like that, so effortlessly leaving nothing but pain behind. Because loving him was like the only house in town still standing with nothing but an earthquake's destruction to keep its company. But in a devastating way that’s all he wanted to have, a love that stayed through the chaos.

*******

Sometimes you want to leave home so much you forget what it means to you. That’s the thing though, Bucky never leaves home long enough to forget, keeps home in his back pocket and daylight saving times. 

Bucky’s gaze stayed steady and calm, letting cigarette air blow around the table, smoking his vision of glassed brown eyes, a smile too glittered to not have something about it. He’s not staring, only observing, long enough just to know how to approach the man. 

“Who you looking at?” Steve asks, leaning his chair in to follow Bucky’s gaze.

“No one,” Bucky snaps back but doesn’t let his eyes fall off the man, not even for a second. Watches as the stranger grabs for another drink. Margarita, on the rocks. Tight black blouse. Laughing at some brunettes joke. Bucky can’t hear it from here but he reckons it's as sweet as his smile. 

Infectious, even.

Bucky seeks adventure, reaches out for an adrenaline rush whenever he can get it and he reckons this fellow will be the one to give it to him. All sweet smiled and dolled up figure showing off his attributes. Like he’s daring anyone to take the rush. 

So, Bucky goes and gets what he wants. 

“What’s your damage, doll?” Bucky asks, leaning back on the spare stool next to the fellow, purposely lingering his sight.

“My _what?”_ The guy's eyebrows screw up in utter confusion, annoyance maybe. _Fuck,_ any expression looks good on him.

“No one comes to New York’s most infamous bar to just drink alone. Gotta be some heartbreakin’ story behind it,”

“How’d you know I’m alone?” The guy looks kind of amused to hear Bucky’s answer but Bucky only offers a smirk back.

“Jus’ a guess,” he shrugs. 

Brown eyes shining in red neon lights, the man wanders his gaze over Bucky’s figure, blinks slowly and sweetly like he wants Bucky to read the heartbreak off of him. His eyelashes curled under his gaze.

But moments like this never do last forever, phone vibrating through his pocket. Constantly. Bucky reaches to switch it off only for an incoming call. He declines. Another call, and another as he declines each one. 

“You some type of hotshot I should be wobbly on the knees about?” the guy asks, squinting his eyes a little as he lets his head lay slightly to the left and honestly Bucky’s scared he’s able to see all his sins with a look like that.

“Nah. But it’d be flattering if you were on your knees.” Look, Bucky isn’t normally this upfront but he’s willing to try for this new face in town. So, before he blows his chance before he’s gotten it. Bucky straightens himself up, lets out his hand to shake, “Bucky Barnes.” 

“Nice meetin’ ya, Barnes.” But he’s got this smile tugging on his cheeks, almost biting it back.

Bucky chuckles, raises up an eyebrow. “And you are?”

He looks like he’s considering telling Bucky his name, it's never been this hard before, he thinks, kind of likes the chase of it. 

“Sam Wilson,” he finally gives in, doesn’t take Bucky’s hand though.

Just as he says his name, someones calling him from the club door, Sam swallows down the last of his drink and turns back to Bucky, showing off a white pearled smile, “not alone but maybe there is a little damage,” he winks and turns to make his way towards the door.

“When will I get to hear it, Sam Wilson?” Bucky raises his voice as Sam keeps walking, slurs at his name, knows right then he could say it forever.

“See you around, hotshot.” And with that he’s out of sight. 

Bucky doesn’t get home till 2am, dropping his keys the second he gets in. Slam dunking right into the sofa, he’s hours late at answering those missed calls but what's a better time than two in the morning with a knocking migraine to answer them, right?

**A PIERCE (4 MISSED CALLS)**

**A PIERCE**

_Call back._

_ASAP._

“Fuck.” He drops his phone down, “fuck, fuck, fuck!” punching into the sofa cushion, feels himself boil up. 

Bucky isn’t particularly guilty about what he does, never feels bad after every successful shot. And they are _always_ successful. He knew he wasn't exactly getting angel points but how bad of a person is he if he’s only ridding the world of evil? Far as he saw it, he’s helping the Lord out, doing his job quicker, for a price that is. He’s best at what he does, never leaves trace not even a hint of residue can trace the hit back to him. 

So, it shouldn’t be a surprise when Pierce is calling him, doesn’t matter how far away Bucky moves, this shit isn’t temporary. One more hit and he’s out, he’s done. For good this time, he promises. 

He calls back. Gets an answer by the first ring. 

“Barnes. What took you so long?” The rough voice of his boss speaks through, if Bucky thinks he’s got a bad conscious, this dude is the spawn of Satan himself. Sin is nothing but a soccer game to him. 

He takes a breath in, hopes regret doesn’t find its way into his voice, hopes the shake in it doesn’t echo to the other line. “What you got for me, boss?” 

“This one should make you feel right at home. Resides downtown Brooklyn.”

Bucky can’t help but ask, knows he shouldn’t weigh out their sins from an unreliable source, he asks anyway. “What they do?”

“Classified.”

“What, I can’t get to know my victim a little,” slight mockery in his voice, trying to comfort himself, mask his nervousness, “c’mon boss, gimme a bit more motivation than that.”

A heavy sigh, followed by muttering in the background. Bucky hopes he’s found someone better to do the hit, knows he hasn’t. He is the best option, _damn you for your murederous talent, couldn’t have been a painter or something?_ Pierce’s voice finally cuts in, “case file will be sent your way. And James?”

“Yeah?”

“Make it look like a suicide, one too many pills, no questions asked, no investigation needed.” there’s a long string of silence, Bucky wonders if the money was ever worth all this. It has to be right? If it's only the bad people he’s taking out. “Don’t let me down.”

“When have I ever boss?” Swallowing down any emotion that could show through his voice. 

The line cuts.

“Gee, my day was great! Thanks for askin,’ lovely conversation Boss. How’s that wife of yours doing? Still going through the divorce papers? Damn, thought so. Well, I’ll be off for the third wank of the day. Good day to you too!” 

Steve never said he was a good conversation holder, probably why every conversation with Bucky always ends before it begins. He starts to dial up his best friend's number, his only friend in most cases, although Sharon persists she’s a friend, Bucky just thinks she feels sorry for him, she’s alright though, Steve trusts her and that's enough for him. 

“Hey, Stevie?” he speaks first the second the ringing stops.

“Buck! What’s up, man?”

“You’re alone right?”

“Uh, yeah...you okay?” his voice sounds worried, Bucky can almost hear the quick shuffling of movement from the other end. 

“Pierce called, got me a hit.”

Steve’s been Bucky’s only friend since he joined HYDRA, seemed like the only one with both a heart and brain. Stevie worked down in sciences and weaponry, never judged Bucky though, you do what you gotta do when you need the money, right? Steve was patient, kind and understanding. He was also a mother when you wanted it the least but needed it the most, worried at any glance, constantly prepared for battle.

“Thought you were done with that,” he doesn’t curse, doesn’t tell Bucky off. Just keeps his voice calm, sends a rush down Bucky, for some reason the calmness in his friend’s voice is so much worse. 

“Seems like the only time I’m done with that shit is if I’m dead,”

“Don’t say that.”

“It's just one more, right? Probably some jackass rich dude that deserves it,” 

Truth is, Bucky doesn’t know how to end this all. A part of him maybe doesn’t want to, this is all he knows. Finger to bullet, sin to name, that’s all his life has ever really been. Violence on violence. He knows Steve isn’t here to see him but he holds back the hot stream of tears from rolling further down. “Stevie?” He calls out once more.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Thanks.”

“You do what you gotta do and then you’re out, don’t worry about it.”

Maybe, just a small part of Steve knows this is never ending. Neither voice it.

“Yeah, hope so. G’night, Stevie.”

“Night, Buck.”

Bucky stays up the rest of the night, for a moment his mind flickers back to Sam Wilson, charming smile with a silvery voice, he wanders for a moment, perhaps he could allow himself a little sweetness this time around. Just once. Just for a bit. 

*******

The next time Bucky finds himself at the bar, same table as before with Sharon and Steve beside him. In all honesty, he’s not really sure what he’s doing. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to be alone, it's been a week since Pierce called, still nothing has been sent his way and a selfish part of Bucky hopes someone else got stuck with the job. Steve and Sharon are debating whether Gohstbusters really needed a remake, it’ll take them 15 minutes till they realise they’re arguing the same point. In the meanwhile Bucky scans the neon lit room, cigarette smoke and balancing trays of margarita blocking his view and the split seconds he could miss of Sam. 

“How do you not understand- You’re a middle child, aren’t you?” Sharon deadpans at a silent Steve after still not realising they both agree with each other. 

“Only child. Pretty lonely, actually.” Steve replies.

“Write me a sob story, Rogers.” Sharon takes a chug of her drink, looking back at a silent Bucky, he lives for this petty shit and he hasn’t spoken so much a word. “Not gonna back me up, Jamie?” 

Bucky lacks a response, reaching for his drink and mind wandering everywhere but here. 

Sharon raises an eyebrow up at Steve who responds with a quick whisper, “he got another hit.”

“Dude!” Bucky screws his best friend a look. 

“Oh, so he speaks!” Sharon raises up her arms, facing her full body towards Bucky, she’s got this questioning look on her face and Bucky knows better than to ignore her. 

“It’s nothin’ alright,” he shrugs, can’t tell if he’s that bad of a liar or Sharon’s extremely good at detecting bullshit. 

“What did they do?” she quips back just as fast. 

“Dunno,” 

“What’s their name?”

“Jesus, I don’t know. What’s with the fuckin’ intergation?” Grabbing his box cigarettes and making an exit towards the entrance, he hears Steve’s sigh and Sharon calling him back, blocks it out by focusing on the blasting music, on the distant chatter and police sirens. 

The next time Bucky see’s Sam he’s hovering by the clubs entrance, fingers tight against his cigarette, can’t remember the amount of times he’s promised Steve he’d quit, doesn’t make a difference. Steve doesn’t keep count of his empty promises. It's sometime around two in the morning, street lights flickering with only the red neon of the bar glowing the area around them, he watches the couples go in one by one, couple teenagers fooling around with their fake IDs.

When his eyes finally catch Sam’s, Bucky thinks its fate. The only good karma he’s getting this time around. He’s wearing a black bomber jacket over a white tee, tight dark jeans to match, glistening smile Bucky’s memorized over the week. Sam greets him with an eyebrow raise, “hotshot,” he nods and takes the cigarette out of his fingers and blows his own pool of smoke. 

Hell, this guy sure knows how to get Bucky going. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” Bucky slurs his response, unashamed at the devilish grin he’s showing off. 

“Didn’t think you’d remember me,” he’s folding back his lips, as though bringing attention to exactly what Bucky wants to taste. 

“And how could I ever forget you, doll?” Bucky pulls back his own cigarette, loosely placing it between his lips, focusing his eyes on all of Sammy’s details this dim lighting could show. The way his jaw tenses as he looks up, the softness of his lips this up close and deep brown eyes looking into his curious blues. 

Stepping forward Bucky takes a long draw from his cigarette, blowing the smoke into the small entrance of Sam’s lips, the man accepts it fully, inhaling the smoke as his gaze lingers from Bucky’s light freckles and down to his lips, wanting to taste the nicotine right off of them. 

Just as Bucky feels himself to lean in closer water is trickling against his skin, he looks up at the starting downpour of rain, reaches out for Sam before realising he isn’t next to him. He looks around both his sides, “Sam?” he calls out, tracing in circles as heavy rain splashes around him and the streets empty away as everyone goes back in. 

“Sammy! Where’d you go?” The urgency in his voice clear as day, wanders around the parked cars as he carries on calling out his name. 

He doesn’t see him but he hears him, an echoing shout, “Marco!”

“Polo!” He calls back as quick, looking from street lights to side walks, trying to catch brown eyes and sweet dimples. 

“ _Marco!”_ Sammy’s words slurring, Bucky can almost hear the smile in it, instead he hears a laugh, an echo of delight and wants to hear it again and again. 

“Polo!” Bucky can’t help but laugh too, the absurdity of it all, feels like he’s back in kindergarden, forever chasing but it gives him a rush, he’d happily chase the voice forever. 

The last time he hears Sam’s voice it feels closer, almost like it's at the back of his neck, snapping around to only hear it again, like a whisper, “Marco,” Sam’s voice a song, only one word making Bucky’s heart race a million miles a second, sending wavelengths of electric rush over his body. 

“Po-” cut off by the feel of wet lips on his, quick and sweet. He slips his hands underneath Sam’s jacket, holding him tight by the waist, inching his body closer as he kisses the wetness of rain from his lips, tracing around with his tongue as he aches for entrance, gains it in the second as he feels Sam slip a hand into his back pocket, squeezing tight as he swirls around the corners of Bucky’s mouth, mapping it out in excellence, trailing down to Bucky’s neck and delicate fingers brush brunette strands behind his ears, he kisses hard and sensual bringing moans out of both men.

Shallow breaths and red neon lights shining onto Bucky’s skin as he let watered eyelashes and cigarette smoke fade his vision of pained moonlit eyes, underneath of Sam’s gaze as he hovered above his lips that left plumped marks of red. Leaving Bucky with nothing but lust and appreciation sported in purple marked kisses.

“Where can I find you next?” Bucky can’t help but ask, melting under open mouthed smirks and narrowed eyes.

“Don’t go lookin’ around for me,” his voice comes in hot and heavy by Bucky’s ears, pulling the hair band out of his tied up bun, leaving him with nothing but a wink and turning back to make his way down the street. 

Bucky’s no addict but Sam’s got this look in his eyes, there’s something about this man that Bucky thinks: _I’m all in._

*******

It's not till Bucky gets home that he reaches for his phone, pulling a note out of his back pocket with it. A number scribbled with _Sam ;)_ underneath.

That sly motherfucker. 

Taking a chug of water, Bucky wanders around his empty apartment. Part of him looking for Pierce’s case file to already be dropped off, it isn’t. It's good, he thinks, shouldn’t be so inpatient. The more time without it the more he can try and be a normal person, whatever that is anyway. 

He slumps down in his bed, dialing the number into his phone and with a deep breath in he presses call, waiting for the low silvery voice of Sam to pour through, he can’t think of anything more he wants to hear. 

They don’t even realise the hours that pass by. 

Sam tells him how he grew up in Harlem, Bucky compliments the slight show of Harlem accent, asks if he misses home. Sam doesn’t answer, asks Bucky about his own home. Bucky tells him about Steve, pain in the ass with a heart of gold, says a part of him has always strived to be as kind. About Sharon, prettiest but toughest chic he’s ever met.

Bucky asks why he moved to Brooklyn, Sam says he needed a fresh start. Bucky asks about the military when Sam mentions ‘the falcon project,’ he says he felt invincible. Bucky asks what almost touching heaven felt like, Sam says his fingertips tasted the arson God had committed, he could never get so close. 

Bucky says Sam’s got tough skin, Sam says the army’ll do that to you. 

Sam asks about Bucky, he says Brooklyn is the only place he’s stayed for longer than he meant too. Like something’s holding him back, Sam says maybe he’s meant to stay. 

Sam tells him his hours spent binging Grey’s Anatomy, Bucky almost screams in agreement. They spend the next twenty minutes talking about Derek. Bucky makes a quick comment, Sam laughs. _There’s that laugh again,_ he smiles to himself, pressing the phone closer to his ear as though it’ll bring Sam himself nearer. 

Both smiles clear in the silence of their voices, just at how goddamn easy it was to talk for hours on end. But sooner than later Bucky pulls the phone away to see the call already reach two hours, birds starting to sound in the sunrise behind closed curtains. 

“It’s pretty late,” Sam says as though he’d just seen the time himself too. “We should get to sleep,”

“Sure,” Bucky says quietly.

“Sure,” Sam’s voice whispers.

“Maybe sure will be our always,” Bucky jokes

“Oh, fuck off!” there’s a slight laughter in his voice, Bucky never wants to stop hearing it.

“Goodnight, Sammy.”

“Night, Bucky.”

The line cuts and Bucky places the phone on his chest, heart beating where Sam’s voice had spoken, he lays there a while complementing the strange feeling in his chest, somewhat lighter than before. Is this what happiness feels like? 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mention of past death and a brief smut scene.
> 
> Enjoy!!

**STEVIE**

Did you get news?

**BUCKY**

gmornin 2 u as well my dear friend

**STEVIE**

I’m serious, Buck.

Has Pierce said anything on who it is?

**BUCKY**

why do u care so much man?

**STEVIE**

Meet me at Flores’ in 10.

**BUCKY**

literally just woke up 

**STEVIE**

Hurry up then. 

**BUCKY**

u owe me a coffee

By the time he gets there, Steve is at a side table, legs shaking underneath him, Stevie was never nervous, good at hiding it anyway. “What the fuck is going on, Steve? You’re creepin’ me out, man.” he hisses at his friend as he sits opposite, already reaching out for his owed coffee.

“So? You never answered my question,” his face looks outright paranoid, eyes constantly looking to his sides. 

Bucky leans in a little closer, places his hand slowly underneath the table, grasping at the gun hidden by his waist. For caution, rule number one of HYDRA: never leave without your piece. 

“Stevie, talk to me. What is it?”

“HYDRA. They’re planning something, I don’t know what. Something big, don’t you think it's suspicious? Pierce doesn’t call you up for months and suddenly he wants you to take someone out the same time this falcon shit is going down,”

“Fal- what? Stop talking morse and tell me what's goin’ on, man”

“EXO-7 FALCON. Shield made air force suit,”

“Isn’t that some top secret government official type shit?”

“Yeah and HYDRA wants their hands on it,”

“Well, they are spoilt brats, Stevie. Told you that from the start,”

“I’m serious, Bucky. Look, the hit that Pierce wants you to do. I think it's someone big, someone who's on the inside. Buck, you fuck this up and-” Steve threads his fingers through his hair, exhaling deep and hard, “you fuck this up and you got both HYDRA and SHIELD on your case.”

In that moment Bucky knows two things, neither being favourable. 

  1. This is what true panic feels like.
  2. He’s fucked, seriously fucked.



“You tell me the second you find out who it is, okay? I’ll get Sharon to do some digging, get you out this before Pierce drags you further in.”

***

**SAMMY (polo)**

_Afternoon :)_

**BUCKY**

_sorry who is this?_

**SAMMY (polo)**

_Hilarious, hotshot._

**BUCKY**

_only for u_

**SAMMY (polo)**

_You free tonight?_

**BUCKY**

_always_

**SAMMY (polo)**

_I want to show you something_

_Can I?_

**BUCKY**

_ofcourse_

_anything_

***

One hand on the steering wheel and another threads through Bucky’s fingers, Sam holding his hand tight as they drive through the night fresh breeze of air brushing at their skin as the sun sets in the distance. 

“Where are we going?” Bucky asks, leaning his head back in his seat as he looks at Sam staring at the road ahead, a small smile on his lip. 

“Somewhere my ma used to take me,” 

Bucky’s heart flutters, Sam speaks like an angel and is already acting like one. Taking Bucky to a place he reckons special, he decides he doesn’t deserve it but will take it with all he’s got if Sam wants him too.

“You got any confessions you wanna make?” 

His heart drops, tries masking the fear in his eyes with confusion, he looks at Sam and then away, “what?”

“You write up confessions, secrets, anything. Fold it and send it up to the sky in a lantern.” 

Bucky doesn’t say anything, feels his heart grow slower but his veins pinch in worry. 

Sam carries on, “momma used to say we were sending our confessions up to the angels, they’d show them to God so he could forgive us,” 

Bucky smiles, his eyes shine pure in a feeling he can’t describe. “What, you couldn’t just go to Church and repent?” 

Sam laughs at that, turns his head to look at Bucky for the first time that whole drive, rolls his eyes a little but his smile is too wide to deny. 

When they pull up, Sam’s car is parked by a hundred others, a stretching view of greenery and strangers all gathered in one as a few lanterns are already flying up, bright yellow light already shining in the now darkening blue skies. 

“Ready?” Sam asks, holding Bucky’s hands in his. 

Bucky tightens his grasp, he’s never shown his fear before which he always thought as never needing protection but at this moment, with Ssm’s hands in his, he feels protected from the world and galaxies itself. 

No one talks, some sit laid by the grass writing down confessions for the angels to take, some watch as secrets fly above them as though they never existed. It’s peaceful, Bucky thinks. He’s never known such a quiet moment which is only filled with calmness. 

Walking hand in hand both men sit near an elderly couple who offer them a smile, Bucky wanders hoe many of these things they’ve been too? How many lanterns are carved with their initials? Are all these confessions guilty? What if some are filled with love and compassion? He shouldn’t be here. He has nothing to offer but guilt. 

As though Sam feels his own worry he squeezes Bucky’s hand, mouths an _it’s okay_ and lays out two notepads and pens in front of them. 

“You don’t have too but...whenever you’re ready,” 

The darkness of the skies lower upon them as the stars start to show, there’s a soft breeze in the air that brushes through the grass, in the distance Bucky spots a speaker, playing softly in the background as distant chatter starts, all quiet enough to not interrupt anyone’s train of thought. 

Sam writes first, his handwriting is neat and cursive, it’s delicate. A bit like Sammy himself. Delicate in the way that you wouldn’t want to harm a just blossoming flower but the type of flower that would survive a forest fire. That’s what Sam’s like, that’s what he writes like too. 

Sam spots Bucky’s distant look, pen in between his fingers but page still blank. 

“If this is too cheesy or something for you-“

“No, God no. Sammy, this is perfect. I jus’ I normally-“

“Keep things to yourself?”

“Yeah,” Bucky lets out a relieved sigh. 

“I get it. Sometimes it feels safer that way but this is therapeutic in a way, to write shit down and send it up there. You don’t gotta believe all that angel stuff but...give it a go?” 

So Bucky writes because Sam’s asked him too and he’ll do anything he asks but a few words in and he can’t seem to stop, like this paper is forcing his secrets out with the ink of this pen, he just can’t stop writing. 

**_I’m terrified all the fucking time and I don’t know how to stop it. To stop being so scared. I’m scared the shit I do will catch up to me one day and karma will have finally taught me a lesson. I’m even more scared that it’ll never find me. And I will never face consequences. I’m scared that I’m loveless, I’m scared that everyone will find out I’m scared. Fuck. Sharon says everyone does shit they regret and you’re only a bad person if you don’t feel remorse. She says guilt is what makes you human. But here’s a confession. I don’t feel guilty. So what does that make me? Sammy said maybe I’m meant to stay in Brooklyn and maybe he wants me to stay but I don’t deserve this. Don’t deserve, shouldn’t deserve, can’t deserve.If you do good you get good. If you do bad you get bad. This shit is supposed to be simple. I’m supposed to have my life figured out. Why isn’t any of this ever simple? But the most simple thing I’ve ever done is find something happy when I’m with Sammy. The only reason I write this is because of Sam._ **

  
The soft instrumental comes in louder, the skies get darker by the minute and Sam’s looking down. His eyes pooled with water, he looks like he’s trying so hard to not let them fall. Bucky so badly wants to tell him he’d catch anything Sam let fall. He reaches out for his hand instead, bashes away his interest in what Sam could’ve written in his own letter and folds his own one up. 

“Mind if I ask what yours says?” Sam sniffs back, a small side smile he forces on his lips.

Bucky shrugs, attempts a smoothing smile back, “just saying sorry to the kid I punched back in eighth grade,” 

Sam shuffles a small laugh, held back by the sound of a sniff but Bucky’ll take what he can get.

“No, seriously. Poor fella, think I fucked his nose up for life,” 

Sam raises up a brow, shakes his head in a smile and says “you’re hands look too soft to throw a punch like that,”

“Blame it on the hormones, why don’t ya?” 

“What did you really write about?” Sam asks, not in an invasive way but one which says there’s no point in lying. 

“That I’m scared.” Bucky confesses, “of everything, of what I am. What did you write?”

“About guilt.” 

There’s that feeling again, the one Bucky’s never got the opportunity of meeting. 

“Trust the fairies up there more than me Wilson?” Bucky nods at him to carry on, watches as Sam leans his hands back on the grass, brown skin onto green mint as he looks at the stars and lanterns above. Not even the galaxies could comprehend a beauty like this, Bucky feels himself falling deeper by the second. 

Sam bites back his lips, a tear finally sets free and his voice is soft, whispery as though the quieter they are the less it’ll dawn on him. 

“I, uh...I had this friend. Riley and I...we were good together, you know? It was us against the world and I guess our version of that was joinin’ the army fresh outta college,' ' Sam's breathing gets slower by the moment, “we were Air Force. Thought we were pros but bein’ a pro doesn’t mean shit never goes south. Fuck- we were so pumped up.” 

Bucky doesn’t say anything, even tries to quiet down his own breathing as his eyes are locked in focus as Sam speaks. 

“There was this...suit. It ain’t really official,” He stutters for a moment, eyes closing, something tells Bucky that Sam knows he shouldn’t be saying this but he carries on anyway, “some experimental type falcon shit, it’s an Air Force suit. Pretty fuckin’ rare and I’d have my head out if I told anyone this but fuck it, Riley lost his life to this shit so only right I do as well?” 

“Sam,” is the only thing Bucky can manage. 

“It’s bullshit. You give your life up, your insanity for a country and in return you get a wave of appreciation. Like a minute of silence heals are sorrows, right? Then they’ll call the couple’a names they remember hero's, he got shot down by a RPG. Real fuckin’ hero way to go out,” his voice is full of pain, Bucky thinks it never really left. “I’m sorry, shit. I’m sorry.” He shuffles in his space, “I’m just so mad, I don’t think I’ll ever stop being mad.” 

Bucky swallows down the lump in his throat, “you put down guilt, why?” 

“Because I always feel guilty, like I could’ve done something but I didn’t. God, look I know you’re probably gonna indulge me with that seven steps of grief bullshit. I know the drill but it ain’t like that, guilt doesn’t truly go away.” 

“Don’t…don’t feel guilty for something outta your control. Guilt only makes you human.” Copying Sharon’s words because how can he accurately advice an emotion he has yet to grasp? _Im a fuckin’ sham,_ he thinks to himself. 

“After Riley’s funeral, mom said Riley’d read everything I write to him as an angel long as I kept sending it up. Hell, she’s probably up there with him laughing at the sob I’m being on our first date,”

“First date?” 

“Yeah, first date.”

“Sure?” Bucky hums a smile.

“Sure.” Sam replies seemingly content. 

As all the people gather to stick their confessions to flaring light, they let go of what once held them down, they watch still and silent. A naive part of Bucky hopes something would’ve happened then, like he would’ve felt a sense of ease. He doesn’t. 

*******

“Lights,” Bucky manages out, mouth filled with swirling tongue movement, eyes closed he reaches out for his bedroom lights, switches it on before collapsing on top of Sammy, his bed isn’t done but they’re gonna make a mess out of it anyway.

“You’re amazing, you’re amazing.” breathless, Bucky chants the words like a mantra, wants Sam to believe them as much as he says it, Bucky sits on Sam’s llap as he starts to unbutton his shirt, sucking love bites onto Sam’s neck as he does so, pulling the moans out of him, wants to hear every noise Sam can make. 

“Kiss _me,”_ Sam asks, full of want and need.

Bucky doesn’t take a second till his lips are smashed back onto his lovers, painting out the detail with his tongue as he licks the bottom of Sam’s lips, his hands reaching down to hold Sam’s length through his jeans, the thickness of fabric and push of Bucky’s hands agasint him bringing grasps of air out of him, his eyes shutting as eyelashes flatter underneath him.

“Bucky, _fuck._ Buck-”

“I got you, I got you.”

One hand unbuttoning Sammy’s jeans as another brushes against his air, comforting him as much as arousing. Bucky feels his own erection rise up as he reaches for his bedside draw, pulling out the lube and applying a handful onto his palm before sliding slowly lubricated hands up and down Sam’s length. Biting at his earlobe and kissing down to purple marked kisses, smells the sweetness off of Sam that’s all he ever wants to give back.

He tastes like heaven; lips made by angels that’s why he always sounds so sweet. The way Sam shouts his name, Bucky never wants to hear his name again unless they’re from Sammy’s lips alone. Bucky thinks he doesn’t deserve this, he can’t have something so sweet, so carved to perfection layed out underneath him for his pleasure. Heaven went down at the hands of a sinner, Bucky’s touch travels across Sam’s skin.

They carry on like that, till both are spent out and laying naked underneath the covers. Sam’s eyes flutter open, a smile forming on his lips as his breaths are audible, he turns to face Bucky.

Not even stars could match the glittered freckles Sam can’t help but admire as he stares into glassed blue eyes, cool and attentive. He’s never felt so good before, not like this, “thank you,” he whispers, _for everything_ he doesn’t add. 

“You don’t gotta thank me, doll.” Bucky smiles, watching the detail of brown eyes fade to sleep, he’s never seen something so peacefully beautiful. _I think I’m falling for you,_ he seals himself from opening up. 

*******

**BUCKY**

_I’m comin over Pops, when is an okay time?_

**SEEN**

_Afternoon okay then?_

**SEEN**

_Alright. See you tonight Dad._

**DELIVERED**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The instrumental playing during the lantern festival was I love you by RIOPY.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: homophobia/homophobic slurs, mentions of past and current abuse. If you'd like to skip both just start the chapter from "it starts with the sound of a tick," after the first "***" if you do end up reading it, ignore my non existent knowledge of American football, I owe it all to google. 
> 
> Also at the end of this chapter there's a link to my tumblr, I created a bit of visuals for this chapter :D although you gotta excuse my horrible editing skills. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy :))

When Bucky was younger mom would play hide and seek with him, she’d tell him to hide underneath the bed when the clock strikes nine. That the big bad wolf was coming out to play and she had to fight him off, Bucky’d protest about how he wanted to help, she’d say “if I scare the wolf away Jamie then you won’t have to when you get a little older,” 

At thirteen years old Bucky got tired of hiding, tired of hearing a rough voice that sounded all too familiar. At thirteen Bucky stopped hiding from the big bad wolf, at thirteen he realised sometimes the wolves you have to stay away from, the ones that’ll tear everything you love to pieces are the very eyes you stare into during the day. 

“Atlanta Falcons? They’re bound to win, Panthers ain’t got shit on them,” placing his coke down by all his fathers emptied beer bottles, Bucky keeps a slight distance away from the man as he sits down.

“Quit talkin’ over the game, James.” 

That’s what he gets, Bucky thinks, hasn’t seen his father in an odd couple months and that’s what he gets. 

“Look, Pops. I’m seein’ someone new and I think you’d like him. He’s real sweet, Pa. Fuckin’ bonkers about football like you, shouldn’t be too hard to get along with.” 

Rough, full of hatred his father sniggers sarcastically. “Ain’t no one beat the faggot outta’ you yet?” It’s rhetorical, Bucky hopes it is. 

He flinches. Remembers walking into class Monday morning sporting a busted lip and black eye after being outed by Brock Rumlow at fifteen. To feel the broken bones before they had snapped. No one asked, hell he doesn’t even think anyone noticed. 

This home, on the contrary, looked nothing like the horrors inside it. Yellow printed walls with daisies, his mother’s favorite. Always used to smell of apple pie on a Saturday evening, “ _nothing better than a sweet tooth, Jamie. You remember that,”_ his mother used to say. A rosy vanilla fragrance she’d always use to wash out the smell of a blunt.

Now, torn up wallpaper at the hands of his father. If Bucky looks hard enough he’d see the blood he shed at thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. 

“You know what, Dad? It's funny. My whole life I’ve been chasing after your acceptance, just for you to even acknowledge me as your son,” Shaking his head, sarcastic laughter as he looks down at his father in pity, disgust maybe. “I prayed every night that I wouldn’t fall for a boy because you brought me up learning how to hate myself.”

His father's eyes stay glued to the screen, some part of Bucky is still too scared to look him in his eyes. “Jesus, you can’t even look at me. I’m here, I’m right fucking here and I have been for the past thirty years if you’d just open your damn eyes!” Snatching the remote and turning the soccer off, for the first time in maybe all his life his father looks up at him, right in the eyes. 

Staring into the blues he inherited from this man, he finds nothing but shame. 

“Get your fairy ass outta my house,” 

“Fuckin’ glad Ma died without you by her side,” 

Bucky knows what comes next. The home designed violence his father always had a speciality in, the roughed voice of an old man swearing every curse in the book and more. He walks out the door, never looking back and closes it just in time for the glass to shatter on wood instead of flesh.

*******

It starts with the sound of a tick.

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick._

_Water, pleading, drowning- Sammy’s smile- Fire, crash, burn. Cold, pain, alone. Fire, crash, burn. Water, pleading, drowning. Fire, crash, burn. Water, pleading, drowning. Fire, crash, burn. Water, pleading, drowning. Fire, crash, burn. Water, pleading, drown-_

A sharp inhale of breath as Bucky startled awake, tucking his knees into his chest for a sense of comfort. His breathing stays slow and shallow, nights like these Bucky would wonder if his sleep paralysis demon was just a reflection of himself, the skeletons he made suffocating him with his own bedsheets, pinning him down to face the demons he created. 

He blinks a little more before letting his eyes adjust to the dark and reaching out for his phone. There he is joined by a smiling picture of him and Sammy, the sun beaming as though it only shines for them. He remembers that date, the photo right behind a taco truck, minutes before disaster, he remembers coming home and both men showering the hot sauce off of their skin and hair, ending it with a steamy make out session against cold shower walls. 

What’s the saying? Happiness doesn’t last forever. Bucky takes a breath, makes his way to the living room, as he expected the case file is laid flat on the dining table. 

In an alternate universe, he’s much younger and opening his college acceptance letter. That the staggering of his heart is excitement and not pain, that the tears threatening to fall are ones of joy and not regret. Bucky rips open the envelope and there it is, in black and white. 

**_CASE FILE #20569_ **

**_SAMUEL THOMAS WILSON_ **

His head spins, his heart sinks. 

The name, permanent on the sheet. 

Perhaps he’s still dreaming, it's his demons finding his weakest spot and using it against him, perhaps this isn’t real and he just has to wake up.

**A PIERCE**

_Don’t mess this up._

But it is real. It’s Sam’s picture, his cupid bow lip shut tight, brown eyes staring right back at him, shoulders broad. Unlocking his phone and clicking on the first photo of Sam, eyes darting back and forth between his own sweet picture of Sammy and the tight lipped man, with the same name, same face that it was his job to off. 

He blinks a million a second as he struggles to make sense, the papers scattering all over the floor as they drop from his grasp. Bucky’s brain screaming at him, can’t seem to make sense of thoughts or surroundings around him, his heart stops in a way he never thought it could. Knees sinking to the floor, he stumbles back until he hits the back of his sofa, eyes speeding across every paper, now a mess on the floor, reaching to fold his knees to his chest, as best as to not touch the sheets themselves as though they’d drag him to the floor with them, all the way down to hell. 

_“EXO-7 FALCON. Shield made air force suit.”_

_“Air force suit,”_

_“Riley lost his life to this,”_

And then it all makes sense. The name that kept showing face throughout his conversations with Sam, with Steve. EX0-7 Falcon. It was right there, in front of him the whole time. 

He feels like God’s own jester. This is all some sick joke. And if Bucky couldn't die then hell would only be sent to his doors. A chasm of divinity and falsehood, feels the crusade rush in his bones, he is made out of blood stained hands after all. 

*******

He feels sick, wrong. There he is, sitting at Sam’s dining table as he makes dinner for the both of them, singing a tune Bucky’d normally sing along to if it wasn’t for- well, everything.

It creeps onto him slowly. Like the monster under your bed, reaching its hands out from under and crawling it onto your skin, pulling you down by your feet until the words you chant _“_ monsters aren’t real,” is something you believe. It creeps onto him slowly, the guilt that has now surfaced around his body. Bucky is made up of more blood than water after all. 

“You okay there?” Sam’s voice forms a smile on his lips, looking at Bucky with the most comforting look he could offer.

Why him? He had suffered enough, tragedy has already forced itself into a tattoo. Why him? The man that could offer a thousand words with a simple smile. Why him? Bucky only saw the shine of Paris when he looked into his eyes. Why him? Even Michelangelo couldn’t sculpt the golden state of mind Sam held. 

Bucky swallows down his guilt, tries to shift his face to a smile and looks up at Sammy, holding back the tears in his eyes threatening to fall, “how do you feel about a holiday?” 

“In the middle of May?” Sam nudges an eyebrow at him, amused smile at Bucky as he lays down a plate of spaghetti bolognese in front of them, “not exactly Ratatouille but it was Grandma’s recipe,” 

As he reaches for the fork, he notices his hand shake in his grasp before Sam does, holding back both his hands under the table, he tries to compose himself again and again and again. “Jus’ a small one, summers only around the corner” 

“Where to then?” Sam amuses the idea, too sweet of a smile as he looks at Bucky and all Bucky wants is to crawl into a corner, to rip this numbness out of his skin. Perhaps he’d take Sam somewhere far away from here, where HYDRA nor SHIELD could harm him. Hell, he’d build a home on Mars so they could live by the stars. Anything. He’d do anything. 

Before HYDRA you would’ve only heard two things about Bucky Barnes.

  1. “James is a little piece of shit, alright? Tell that asshole he owes me a hundred bucks,”
  2. “That fuckers still hangin’ around? Ha! God clearly ain’t showin’ that boy any mercy,”



It goes without saying that HYDRA is all he’s got, hell even the bed he sleeps in is made out of blood money. A life for luxury, maybe he is a shitty person after all. 

But shitty people get fresh starts, right? “Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong,” Ghandi said that, that’s got to count for something and if Bucky’s got nothing then he’ll take whatever he can get.

Fuck the shot. Fuck HYDRA. And fuck Pierce. He’s got enough dollars saved up to pack his stuff and exit to some remote island. New Mexico or even disguise himself as a Brit, it doesn’t matter just as long as he gets Sam to leave with him. 

*******

“You gonna tell me what’s going on, Buck? I mean, who even is this guy,” Sharon doesn’t stop asking her questions as she types fast into the computer. “Is this a fetish? Cause as much I say you can be open with me, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind” She looks up at him, eyes horrified at a possible answer.

“It’s not a fetish.” Bucky keeps his eyes locked on the screen, waiting for Sam’s file to load up, doesn’t even notice Steve walking in with two cups of coffee in one hand and sipping his own in the other. 

Sharon rushes out of her seat, almost knocking Bucky beside her as she takes the coffee out of Steve’s hand, “knew I could count on you, you’re a dime. You know that?

“Well, definitely beats you calling me an asshole. Here, Buck. Get something in you,” he offers the cup to Bucky who stands still, the reflection of a loading screen in his eyes, he feels time go slower. Steve places the cup next to him and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You gotta tell us what's going on here, man.”

“I just- you just gotta tell me who- what Sa- what this guy has done, okay?”

Sharon takes a seat back in front of the computer, refreshing the slow page as she turns herself to face Bucky who's still unable to look anywhere but the screen ahead, “you called us in at six in the morning, J. You can’t expect us to not ask,”

“It's not important,” he lies. 

“It's him, isn’t it?” Steve interjects, “he’s the one Pierce wants the hit on.”

Bucky stays silent, lets Steve and Sharon put the pieces of the puzzle together. And as much as they are his best friends they’re also always the smartest people in the room. Sharon got her part in HYDRA long before Bucky and Steve, refuses to tell either of them when or how. All Bucky knows is that she came from a house of ruins, the mind of a hacker, she can do anything she puts her mind to. It takes a minute before it all makes sense, the shock clear in their faces as Steve offers a small sigh, falls back onto his own seat.

Sharon starts first, “considering the circumstances I’m not gonna be the one to say you’re an asshole for not telling us you had a boyfriend,” Steve nudges her shoulder at that, she kicks him back but carries on, “But shit, Bucky. I’m so sorry.”

“What’d Pierce say he wants?” Steve asks. 

Just as Bucky opens his mouth the screen opens up to a folder, ten documents underneath the name #20569. Bucky gulps back as Sharon double clicks, opening to what Bucky reckons will be the end of him. 

Bucky feels Steve’s eyes on him, thankful for Sharon’s fast scrolling, doesn’t think he could bear reading any of the words. It’s all the same bullshit, his age, address, name, his whole livelihood filed in HYDRA’s base. 

“Who’s Riley Underdahl, it's got him here under alliances?” Sharon questions.

In that moment Bucky can feel his heart race out of him, “He was Sammy’s wingman,”

“Was?” Steve looks in between Bucky and Sharon, sharing a worried look with her.

“Shot down while testing out the suit. Search him up,”

“Bucky-” Sharon tries, hand retiring to her side.

“Just search it!”

“Alright, okay. But if you’re tellin’ me he died, it’ll be a dead end. We couldn’t even find stuff on your little lover here that isn’t the basics,” she slumps back in her chair, she knows how HYDRA works. This isn’t easy accsess, it’s not a google search.

Bucky glares at her, it doesn’t take longer than a second till she’s back to searching up Riley’s name, Steve eagrly pressing onto the top of her chair as he leans in, as does Bucky. 

**RILEY UNDERDAHL**

**20578, EXPERIMNTAL FAILURE**

Clicking onto a link that brought up a video, shaky and blurred. 

Bucky’s voice drops, breathless, “holy shit.”

*******

Mining through the Netflix page, Bucky rests his head on Sammy’s chest. Pillowing into the familar scent and comfort, feels Sam trace circles at the nape of his neck, allowing any small sense of comfort to suffice. 

He had knocked on Sam’s door, holding in the very heartache that brought him there in the first place. A bag of snacks in one hand and reddened eyes staring into Sam’s mahogony ones. Remembers the way Sam pulled him into his hug, taking his hand and guding him into his apartment.

Sam never asked, saw Bucky holding back the tears that threatned to fall at every touch. Sat Bucky down at the edge of his bed, delicatly unbuttoning the jeans off of him, throwing them to the side, “arms up,” he had said softly, throwing his shirt into the pile too along with his own till they’re both stripped down to their boxers. Opening the window slightly to let the small breeze of air enter the dimmed room with only the tv screen to offer light and cast a shadow on the covers.

Bucky remembers staying like that for hours, episodes of The Office flash by, Sammy’s laugh a comforting noise in their shared silence. As his head rests on Sam’s chest, he can hear his heartbeat, can’t help but think in another world, he wouldn’t have met Sammy and the very heartbeat he hears now is the same he would’ve been the reason for stopping. 

Hours later when the sound of Sammy’s laugh dies down into soft snores, and the gentle breeze of howling wind turns into singing birds, Bucky lets himself break. 

He feels the rise and fall of Sam’s chest, the tears force themselves out, the desperate sob he had been holding in for days lets loose, the feeling of hot shame and guilt rots in his heart as he sobs deep and hard into a sleeping Sam’s chest. The fires of abyss burning in his eyes, he feels cold.

  
  
  
  
  


*******

**AUTHORS NOTE**

A link to the visuals I posted for this chapter of Bucky’s nightmare, his lockscreen and phone gallery. [**CLICK HERE**](https://justficsandstuff.tumblr.com/post/617140607235866624/buckys-nightmare-lockscreen-phone-gallery-a)

Tell me your thoughts :) you can find me on tumblr as @justficsandstuff

*******


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuhhh, it all goes downhill from here. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

Knocking the ash from the tip of his cigarette, Bucky sits alone at the pavements as Sharon and Steve pace up and down the sidewalk, reacting the way Bucky thinks he should be. He can't think straight, the world around him disappears bit by bit. Perhaps now he finally understands how Icarus felt, burning off at the edge as his eyes burn out from the sight. There always was that thrill in danger. Addicting. 

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice toneless.

“Don’t start this smokin’ kills bulshit with me now, Stevie alright? I’m fuckin’ stressed out and you and princess over there really ain’t helping as you pace about, okay. So, please jus’ spare me the lectures,” Bucky breathes out all in one go.

Sharon has always been the one to get quick to the point, never beats around the bush. Stevie on the other hand, well he’s a bag full of emotion, can’t say things straight forward without worrying it’ll hurt someone. That’s why he’s not as mad when Sharon states the obvious, voicing what's on everyone's mind. Doesn’t mean Bucky wants to hear it though.

“Buck, we don’t even know what this guy did. He could be a full on sociopath,” she says.

“Fuck you. He isn’t a sociopath.” He ignores whatever justafication Sharon’s about to say, pulls out his phone and texts Sammy. 

**BUCKY:**

_theres a spare key under the mat._

**SAMMY(polo):**

_Classic._

**BUCKY:**

meet you in 20?  
  


Bucky looks back up at Sharon whose clenching her jaw, probably trying to stare the sense into Bucky. “I get that you’ve got a little crush Bucky but-”

“It’s more than a crush, Sharon. I just care about him. Would you please understand that?” 

“I’m just trying to look out for you here, we don’t what this guy is wanted for.”

Bucky sighs, there’s nothing about Sam that points to warranting a hit on him. Nothing that makes Bucky believe he’s got something to be guilty for. Even if there is, no devil made sin would lead Bucky to be the finger behind the trigger. But everyone hides their demons, right? Just take Bucky as an example. 

Doesn’t matter. “Think you could hook us up with a passport?”

“What?!” Steve stutters, looking at Sharon who can’t seriously be considering this right now. 

“I’ll take him some place else. I’ve got enough money saved up to just go off the grid. They’ll give up eventually,”

“You’re really considering this? Bucky, c’mon. They could track you down like that,” Steve is screwing his eyebrows, frustration as he’s ignored by both his friends. 

Sharon nods, “you gonna tell him about his air force buddy?”

For a brief moment Riley’s video flashes in his mind, **_experimental failure._ **He shakes it off. It’s too late anyway, “knowing won’t do him any good.”

When did shit get so complicated? When he ran away from all instincts to join hydra or when he decided to open his heart up, already broken and mended back together in stitches. Perhaps this is his fault, knowing the hurt comes with the package of love and like the candle he is, Bucky can’t help but commit the arson. 

*******

That’s the thing though, he let Sam be that tornado in his life and as much as the destruction is falling on him now, he’d let the rubble break his skin over and over again if Sam was still there with him and isn’t that the point of love? To stay through the chaos. 

Sliding his doormat to the side, Bucky see’s the ground empty. Absently smiling to himself as he starts to unlock the door with his own keys, fingers circling against the kermit the frog keyring Sam had gotten him, he opens the door, swaying in with the happiness vibrating in his bones. He could get used to this, coming home and knowing Sammy was there waiting for him. Hell, perhaps the next time they’d be lounging in shorts, the sun beaming through the curtains and the fan blows at their skin. Refreshing. Bucky can think of a million scenarios where Sam and he were happy, far away from this mess. 

But being a candle means hazards can occur, tragedy at the most. A small lit fire from a lighter can turn into a blazing flame by the second and Bucky can’t remember that this fire extinguisher doesn’t stop the fires only tame it. 

Sam stands, unsteady like it's taking all his strength to not fall. His eyes are distant and Bucky can just about feel the numbness his lover radiates. 

“Sam?” Bucky asks, quick to worry as he takes a stepfoward to hold ontohis arms, to carry his weight so he doesn’t have to- Sam steps back away from him.

“Don’t. Don’t you even come near me or I swear to God I will scream this fucking house down.”

Bucky can smell the intoxication from here, can’t tell how many drinks he’s had. His heart stops in a manner he’s felt before, he tries catching his breath as he realises it: the case file papers, scattered all over the floor. Sam looks down at the sheets and then slowly back up to Bucky. The eyes that used to have so much love, he now see’s nothing. 

“Sam- Sammy, I can explain.” Bucky’s voice thick, trying to push down the cathartic release. 

Sam’s drunk, stumbling on his feet and words. His voice shakes and Bucky can feel the earthquake beneath his feet. “That’s what I am to you?” he breathes out, a sigh masking his sob not strongly enough, “a mission? Fuckin’ target practice,”

Bucky swallows back, his whole body boiled up, unsure what to do or say, unsure what Sam would allow him to say. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out, the air around them is poisonous and Bucky can’t help but to reach out. 

The anguish in Sam’s expression is enough to make Bucky feel as though the sun is melting on his back, burning his stitched up sins open. Failing to realise stitching up your sins doesn’t erase them, only plasters them up in regret and what will guilt do for you in the long run apart from rot you from the inside out.

“I don’t- that’s not me. It’s, I’m trying to keep you safe Sammy and-”

There’s no point, Sam’s eyes are spiteful as he watches Bucky try to explain himself, nothing he says will bring the purity of love back in his eyes, all Bucky can see in the browness is a hurt he thought he’d be protecting Sammy from.

Bucky whispers, his voice broken and pleading. “Sammy,” he’s biting down on his lips, anything to stop him from the rips bleeding out of his heart, a stream of tears blur Bucky’s vision of the man that slowly becomes a stranger as seconds fade away.

“You were out to get me this whole time and I still- I _still_ let myself fall.” Sam scoffs, shaking his head and already making his way to the door, “don’t call me, okay? Don’t even try.”

As the door shuts loud, a bang making Bucky flinch. The boiling tension rising in his chest he screams into the air, punching his fists onto the wall, wounding his already broken knluckes. He punches again and agin till his hands aim for the mirror glass in front of him, “fuck!” the glass shatters beneath him, cutting at his fingers, “fuck!!” he curses aloud, screaming at no one but himself, looking down at his knuckles that begin to bleed out. 

This is all he’s ever had left in him, the blood and pain he caused.

*******

You ever felt so much pain that you just don’t want to feel anything else? Like the hurt in your chest is the only thing you’re familiar with, you hold onto it because without it, there is nothing left apart from the numbness.

Sam sits in front of the fire pit, it’s worn out stone structure slowly breaking down. The flames burn the tears out of his eyes, he holds himself how he hoped Bucky could. 

He does the only thing he can, let love burn as though it never existed but for a moment, Sam can feel his heart stop because he knows no matter what he’ll never stop loving Bucky Barnes. 

Perhaps that’s what hurts the most.

He swipes through his camera gallery, deleting each memory one by one. These photos mean nothing to him anymore, they can’t. The smiles, the laughter and the joy. All just one big lie, god, Sam feels like a joke, pathetic even. 

Sam lets his phone drop, staring right back into the fire. That’s his thing isn’t it, _love._ It’s a sick joke that Sam lets himself fall for each time, to be blinded by the beauty of the flame without seeing the forest fire cause behind it. 

At first he ignores the knocks, thinking its Bucky coming to explain but in all honesty he doesn’t care, doesn’t want to know the words that can justify this. Was that all he was all along? 

Sam’s not stupid, he knew digging into government shit would come back to bite him but did it have to be like this? So conniving, heartless, felt like a fool for falling for this serpents trick. 

It was a trick though, right? Bucky’s feelings can’t have been fake, he hopes not. God, he really hopes not. 

“Christ, I’m comin’, I’m coming!” Sam picks himself up, walks over to his door before briefly wiping away his tears. 

“Yeah? How can I help?” Sam sighs, trying to be respectful to the blonde man standing in front of him, he can’t help but let the fairness shine through a bit, he’s just so tired and he doesn’t want to see or speak to anyone right now. Lord knows whose out to get you, everyone’s got a back stabbing smile. 

The guy, tall and these blue eyes that remind him of Bucky’s, though there isn’t that bright shine in them, not like Bucky’s. This guy has got this look, like he feels guilty. Sam offers a small small, he repeats himself, “how can I help you?”

“Sam Wilson?” He asks, threads his fingers through the wave of blonde that he messes up, with his other hand he holds tight onto a paper. 

Sam swallows, “yeah, why?” The cautious side of him looking behind the guy, eyes scanning the outside area of his open door, the man must’ve noticed as he offers a smile back. 

“It’s just me. There’s this-“ he shoves the letter into Sam’s hands, “here.” 

Sam looks at the ruffled paper, a part of his heart aches just holding onto it the same way he did with-

“Just- please, read it.” The man glances behind Sam at the burning flame of the fire pit, “should probably burn it after.” 

And with that he’s gone, Sam ponders about just throwing it into the fire now, he recognises the handwriting. Fuck knows if it’s inked with poison, he’s in no position to trust anything that comes from Bucky, nor from the stranger. 

He opens it anyway. 

**_thank you for loving me, more than that thank you for for making me feel loved. the moment i met you i just Wanted to talk to you, like an instant connection. i knEw what the future could hold for us and sammy doll, i was not disappointed. fate done right by me. by us._ **

**_i want to explain this all to you if you would just let me, scream at me, hurt me, i dont care what you do so long as you stay in my life because i Need you morE than you know, i will wait lifetimEs if you wanteD me too._ **

**_you have To know that none of this was meant to hurt yOu in the end and i know sorry’s don’t do much for you but i am so so sorry sammy._ **

**_sammy i am nothing more than a broken man put back together with plasters. do you know how after a Long while of keeping a plastEr on your skin stArts to feel wrinkly and numb. that is how i feel without you. so Very lost and alonE without you by my side. i cannot bear to loose you, ~~not from someone else’s hands.~~_ **

**_let me see you._ **

**_soon._ **

He scans the capital letters, swallows back the emotion rising up from his chest and throws the letter into the fire. 

The inked paper melting into the flames, reflection in the brown of Sam’s eyes, he feels still, not yet broken. 

  
  


**AUTHORS NOTE**   
okay, back at it again with the visuals. A link to my tumblr for the letter and Sammy going through his phone **[HERE](https://justficsandstuff.tumblr.com/post/618063771604320256/sammys-phone-letter). **  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think :) feedback appreciated.
> 
> @justficsandstuff on tumblr!


End file.
